


I think I'm coming undone

by brokxnharry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e10 Fury, Grieving Stiles Stilinski, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Dies, Stiles-centric, i think, matt was such a dick, melissa finds out about scott, scott and stiles are friends, sleep paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Jackson hurts Sheriff Stilinski in the station and Stiles is there to watch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought of paralyzed Stiles and wanted more. I also love his relationship with his dad and this happened for some reason so I'm sorry :(  
> Title from the song constant knot by city and colour.
> 
> I don't own any of the characters or anything related to Teen Wolf.

_Blink._

He remembered falling, falling, falling. He remembered Derek, clawing at his own leg to regain feeling. He remembered the kanima –Jackson – hovering around him. He remembered Scott promising that everything would be okay, trying to get Matt away, trying to not get people hurt.

_Blink._

He remembered Scott's mother coming through the door. He remembered dead bodies of cops that had raised him. He remembered voices and sounds and screams that would haunt him for as long as he dared live.

_Blink._

He remembered crawling. He remembered gunshots and the sound of his father where it wasn't supposed to be. He remembered fear and pain and panic that he was too paralyzed to act upon, to even go through properly.

_Blink._

He remembered claws and bars and screams for help. He remembered wanting to hit against the ground, wanting to feel something, anything. He remembered anger and frustration and the urge to scream for that thing to fuck off. To leave his dad and Scott's mum alone. To stop killing people around him and having him there to watch. To stop taking away the only sense of control he'd ever had.

_Blink._

He remembered finally screaming. He remembered putting his hand in the air. But his dad never took it. He remembered his dad falling and it felt worse than when he had. He remembered blood and spilled guts and choked sounds that were almost a goodbye, but also, an **_it's okay_**. He remembered **_no, no, no, this can't be it, this isn't happening_**. He remembered someone calling his name but it not being his dad because he couldn't get any sound out. He couldn't get anything out. He remembered his heart breaking in his chest and panic holding onto him and promising to never let go. And then he remembered nothing.

_Blink._

It wasn't connecting right in his head. It felt like his memory was patched up, like there were moments that weren't there, that he hadn't been present to go through, to live and feel and move on from.

He found himself in a waiting room. A hospital's waiting room. His hands were bloody and shaking and he didn't know why. Melissa wasn't talking to Scott and Scott was talking to Derek and they were looking at him weird. Like he'd break and shatter. Like he was supposed to. He didn't know why.

He still couldn't breathe right. It felt a lot like a panic attack that had been going on for a bit too long but he couldn't be sure. He felt like he was in a daze; imprisoned in a body that wasn't his own, watching onto a life that felt familiar, but not really.

He'd always been into supernatural creatures but not ones that paralyzed him and killed his father in front of him. Not ones that had claws and used them on him and everyone he cared for. Not ones that Lydia was in love with instead of him. If he'd known about those, he probably never would have found such fascination in a world so ugly, so brutal and out of control and cruel.

_Blink._

He was in a hospital bed now. Scott was in a chair beside him. Melissa was standing closer to Stiles than Scott. The lights were too bright and his heart was pounding against his chest and it didn't hurt because he couldn't quite feel it but it felt like his chest would collapse and he willed it to hurry up. He closed his eyes and-

_Blink._

" Stop. I don't want those. They make everything feel hazy. They make me feel like I'm on the ground again, like I can't move anything." Was the first thing he'd spoken. His voice sounded off; groggy and clicked and unanimated.

" It's been three days, Stiles." Was what Scott said back. And Stiles didn't know three days since what.

_Blink._

Lydia was there. Holding Jackson's hand. There weren't claws anymore. Or blood. Or scales.

Scott was there too, standing next to Stiles, with a hand over his. Derek was sitting on Scott's chair, on edge, prepared. He wouldn't let it happen again. He wouldn't slack this time.

" I'm so sorry. I-" Jackson cried. Stiles didn't quite know why. But he was angry. Absolutely fucking pissed. Stiles took Jackson by the collar, shaking and yelling and almost hitting but being too out of strength to.

" You killed him. You fucking killed my dad. Don't come in here with your pathetic apologies. I never want to see you again. You- you-" He couldn't breathe. Scott was touching him and Derek was kicking everybody out and Stiles couldn't understand. It all came crashing down and he'd already been too weak, too trusting, too caring, too fucking human. He closed his eyes again and begged for the darkness to take him a bit deeper, to not fade away so fast, to keep him there, to stay.

_Blink._

He was in his room. No. Scott's room. He was laying in Scott's bed, wearing Scott's clothes. Scott was next to him, staring up at the ceiling, sighing ever so often. He looked tired, like life had been sucked out of him. Stiles wondered what he'd missed, how long it'd been since he'd been there, for his friend. His best friend. His **_brother_**.

" You look like shit." Humor was good. Stiles could do it. Could try to. Scott stared, wide-eyed, surprised. His eyes filled with tears and Stiles let them.

" You're awake. God, Stiles. How are you? Are you okay? Do you need anything? Should I-" Scott rose. Stiles stopped him.

" I'm not awake enough for this. Stay." It sounded and felt and **_smelled_** of desperation. So Scott stayed, staring at his friend, waiting for him to fade again, to escape to unconsciousness and seek relief there, seek comfort that Scott couldn't offer him. This was too big for him. It was too much.

" How are you feeling?" Scott whispered. He was terrified he'd chase him away somehow, he'd break through that shell of composure.

" How long has it been?" Stiles questioned instead.

" Five days in the hospital. Three days here. So. About eight days. Yeah." Scott winced, like it hurt him to think of how long his friend had been emotionally comatose for. How long it'd been since everything fell apart and Scott stood there, watching.

" Oh, man. How bad was it?"

" Pretty fucking awful, Stiles. The worst it's ever been. I- I was so scared." Stiles looked into Scott's eyes and they were shedding the tears they'd been holding onto for quite some time now. Stiles sighed, wanting to sleep again, but knowing he had to pull it together. His friend needed him. He could focus on that for now. He didn't have to think about Jackson or Lydia or Melissa or Matt or his dad. Oh God, his dad.

" My dad is dead, Scott. He died. He- he's gone. Jackson killed him. Right in front of me. And I-" Stiles shook his head. The rest of him shook too. His eyes squeezed shut and all he could think was **_sleep, sleep, sleep. Pass out. Fuck. Get out of here. Run, run, run._**

_Blink._

Scott was on top of him, calling out for him, crying for him and into him and- Stiles couldn't fade. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't hear Scott's voice but he could see him. And he looked wrecked.

Anxiety's grip on Stiles was so severe but this was Scott. He couldn't just leave him like that. He focused on the way his lips moved. **_Stay with me, Stiles. You can't leave me. Please. Breathe, Stiles. Breathe. Don't go. Don't pass out. I need you. I fucking need you, Stiles, please._**

The fog began to clear and Stiles could hear the tremble in Scott's voice. It sounded like he was under water. Like Stiles was drowning and he was taking Scott down with him. And Scott had always been a shit swimmer anyway and this was worse. So much worse than any lake or sea or pool that Scott had ever tried swimming in. This was something else. Something darker and angrier and so much fucking worse. Stiles had to keep himself above water or else Scott would sink and choke and die. And Scott couldn't die. Not him too.

" Okay. I'm here. Yeah. It's okay. I'm okay." Stiles' heart was still beating too fast. His breaths were coming in gasps, and that was when they came at all. Sometimes, he was too breathless to even make a sound. His eyes were unfocused and hazy but he could see Scott and that was enough for him.

" Stiles," Scott whimpered, knowing that Stiles wasn't okay. And probably never would be. He leaned down, tiredly, resting his forehead against Stiles', breathing him in, trying to take some of his pain away.

" Stop, stop. Don't take it away. I want to feel it. All of it. Any of it. Don't let me not feel." Scott stared at him, eyes taking in this dimmed version of his best friend. Stiles was normally frightened by anything, despite him being one of the bravest men Scott had ever met. He was always jumpy and all over the place and now he craved pain. He welcomed it. Scott held down the bile rising up his throat, and all he could think was, **_what had this done to you, Stiles? How can I ever get you back?_**

" What do you need?" Scott questioned, wiping at his face just in case anything else was still falling. Stiles closed his eyes and Scott held his breath. He thought he'd lose him again. He thought he'd fade. But Stiles shakily breathed out, before opening his eyes.

" Talk to me until I fall asleep." Scott couldn't find his voice. There was a lump in his throat and he wanted to cry some more but Stiles needed to hear his voice. He found some comfort in that. So Scott talked.

He opened the window, closing the curtains, as he spoke of all the **_remember when's_** , and **_who would have thought's_** , and **_can you fucking believe's_**. He never spoke of kanimas or werewolves or cops or parents in general. He never spoke of hospitals or doctors or nurses or angry mothers who still didn't know what to do with the truth.

He didn't know if he'd fallen asleep first or if Stiles had. He didn't know if what he'd gotten was considered to be sleep, or simply his body shutting down. He didn't know, didn't know, didn't know.

_Blink._

There was no gradualism to Stiles' sleep and awake-ness. It felt more like losing and regaining consciousness. Always so sudden. So unexpected and confusing. So when he opened his eyes this time, it took him some time to find the reassurance in Scott's proximity. To remind himself that the panic attack had passed and that he should be able to breathe and move without feeling like collapsing.

He let Scott sleep. He planted his feet to the ground, trying to find his balance, before standing up. It felt like the first time he'd walked on his own since- since what had happened. He felt wobbly and just off but he pushed through it.

He went into the bathroom, washing his face and teeth, and never looking into the mirror. He didn't want to see the features he'd shared with his father and how much his- his absence altered them. He didn't want to see what it had all done to him. He didn't want to see anything.

He walked out of the bathroom, finding his phone on Scott's desk. He opened it and it blew up with messages and voice mails and missed calls and notifications and- his dad's name. There was a voicemail with his name, his number. Stiles would have thrown the phone away if he could. He would have thrown himself out the window if he could do that either.

" Stiles," Scott mumbled, slowly, carefully, awakening. His hands skimmed through Stiles' side of the bed, before he sat up, alert, to find Stiles standing there, with a hand against his desk as if he could barely stand upright on his own. He was looking down upon his phone.

Scott left the bed, approaching Stiles with such care, like he was walking on ice, and it could break at any time, and take them all with it. He put a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing kindly, barely.

" There's a voicemail. From him. And I- I don't know if I can hear it. I don't know if I want to."

" You don't have to. Take this at your own pace, man. There is no right or wrong way to handle this, and-" Stiles pressed the button. His father's voice filled the room. He felt like he could breathe again. Like if he closed his eyes long enough, he could tell himself this was all a nightmare, and he'd go home and find him there.

 ** _" We just finished up a crime scene, Stiles. It was one of those things you're so fascinated by. I thought I'd go and find you there or something."_** He laughed. Stiles' dad laughed. Stiles cried.

 ** _" We're heading back to the station now. I'll probably be late, but I left you some pizza in the fridge. Or was it chinese? I can't even remember but there's food in there. I think. Pretty sure. If not, you can just go to Scott's. I can pick you up early morning before school. If you do, say hi to the Mccalls for me. And thank Melissa, don't forget your manners. She's a nice woman, that one. Yeah. Very nice."_** He paused. Chuckling. Sighing. Doing all those sounds that Stiles would never hear again.

 ** _" What the hell am I going on about? Anyway. Take care, kid. I'll see you soon. Better not find you back there in the station, sabotaging evidence or driving a cop mad or so help me,"_** The voicemail cut him off before Stiles could know what he would have done, what empty threat would he have thrown at him, knowing that he'd never have the heart to actually go through with it.

Stiles cried harder, holding the phone in his shaking hand until it fell. And so did Stiles. Scott was holding him. Pieces were spilling everywhere, breaking away, shattering. And Scott tried. He really did, to keep his friend together, to put him back whole, but Stiles was breaking down. He was crying and crying and crying. Scott thought he'd never stop. So Scott cried too and hoped Stiles would be too busy with his own heartbreak to notice his.

_Blink._

He was in his black suit. The last time he'd been in something remotely similar, he'd lost his mother. He remembered being too young to understand. Feeling a pain too immense for him to carry. He remembered loss and confusion and **_where did mummy go's_**. He remembered his dad's hand on his shoulder. He remembered his hug, as he told him that they needed to go home.

He remembered Scott, standing there like he'd lost his own. Clinging to Stiles, as if scared that he'd follow his mother down there too. Holding onto Stiles and holding him together.

_Blink._

Scott was calling for him. He ran, ran, ran. He didn't stop. He couldn't. The dirt was too much for his constricted lungs. The coffin was too much for his broken heart. The looks, the whispers, the sniffles. It was too much. Too fucking much.

Stiles stopped when he tripped on the lacrosse field, falling right where Lydia did, when she'd gotten bitten by Peter. He stayed there. He couldn't move. He felt like he was back there, in the station. And his dad kept falling and he kept screaming and nothing stopped. Nothing changed.

His dad kept dying, dying, dying. And Stiles could have sworn he was too.

_Blink._

" You have to stop passing out on me, Stiles. Or at least give me a heads up beforehand so that I can be emotionally prepared." Stiles was back in Scott's bed. Still in his black suit that felt like it was burning holes through his skin.

" Sorry. It's not like I can help it." Stiles sighed. He could tell Scott was trying to mask his worry with humor but Stiles was far too tired to come up with something smart to say.

" It's okay. I was only joking." Stiles turned to rest on his side, inching a bit closer to Scott, who put his fingers through his hair, combing through it.

" Everyone came home with us, to check up on you. Mum is cooking dinner."

" Who's everyone?" Stiles had his eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He was just resting. He was tired to his core.

" Danny, Allison, Lydia, Derek, Isaac. And…" Scott couldn't say the name without choking on it. Stiles still understood.

" I don't care what he has to say. I don't want to see him, Scott. I don't want to." Stiles squeezed his eyes tighter and Scott knew he was trying to take himself away.

" His parents are sending him away. To London, apparently. He didn't want to go until this had all… passed."

" Passed? How is it supposed to pass, Scott? How will it ever fucking pass? He- he **_killed_** him. Why can't you understand that? Why can't he?"

Jackson came in before Scott could think of a response to all Stiles' questions. He was crying. So was Stiles, before he pulled himself together, putting up that front of numbness, of nonchalance. Jackson had never been a friend to Stiles. He'd never particularly liked him. But this was far worse than anything Stiles could live with, could forgive.

Jackson didn't look at Stiles. He couldn't. He choked out apology after apology, telling him he knew he would never forgive him and he'd never forgive himself either but he couldn't help this; it wasn't him, and he wished it was.

Stiles closed his eyes again and this time, he did fade away into restless sleep, dreaming of eyes that weren’t exactly like his, and a voice that he'd missed more than he could ever allow himself to acknowledge.

_Blink._

 Scott told Stiles about Melissa seeing him shift. He told him about the hand over her mouth, the tears that wouldn't stop, the eyes that hadn't looked at him since. He didn't know why he'd said that, but it'd been too long, and people had been lost and he couldn't bear to think that this was what he'd have from his mother.

Stiles listened, thinking of that night, with her being behind bars, and his father being in front. He thought of claws going through her stomach instead of his dad's. He trembled with the thoughts of losing her instead. It was just as bad. Everything was so bad, so horrible. Stiles didn't know what to do with himself.

Scott went to hold him, apologizing for putting that onto his shoulders, but Stiles walked out of the room, and into Melissa's. He cried into her arms and begged her to forgive Scott. To not be mad at him because he was such a good person and she was all he had in this world and Stiles knew that if Scott had lost her, he wouldn't have made it.

_Blink._

He fell asleep in her bed. And woke up to her, in his bed. Or Scott's bed, holding her son, and him, holding her back. It was the first night that Scott had slept with no nightmares, no restlessness. It was the first time his body had allowed itself to crash, to rest, to settle.  

Stiles watched them until they both woke. Melissa first, then Scott. And Stiles couldn't help but think, **_family. Home. Safety._**

_Blink._

It still hurt like all hell and he still felt more alone than not. But he saw Lydia and didn't feel the urge to confess his great love to her because it wasn't there anymore. He'd realized that he'd fallen out of love with her, when she'd fallen in love with the one who'd taken away the last family he'd had.

He didn't blame her. He didn't think he blamed Jackson either. But it just wouldn't work. Something had been ruined. A person had died and another had had to live with it. They couldn't be friends again. They couldn't look at him, and him, them.

His panic attacks became less frequent, and so did his blackouts. He could sleep and awake and know what had happened in between. It began to make a bit more sense in his head, feel a bit more real, as the days passed, and his father never returned.

He went back to school and at the mention of calling someone's parents in, he went to the bathroom, succumbing to the panic attack that had been hovering around him all day long. Scott helped him and he didn't fade away. The word parent or dad became less and less of a prohibited word and more of a word that stung but not too much.

He drove by the laws and became more tame because he didn't want an encounter with the cops that his father was no longer one of. He didn't want to have to meet any of the people his father had worked with, or helped. He didn't need the reminder that he'd lost a good man. The best man he ever could have known.

Jackson was once texting Scott and Stiles replied instead. He wasn't mean or cruel or brutal. He decided that his father deserved better than to leave all that ugliness behind. That wouldn't be his legacy. That wouldn't be what Stiles would remember him by. Jackson and Stiles never spoke again after that.

_Blink._

Stiles never sat wrong, never slept on the same side for too long, never took sedatives or painkillers or sleeping pills. He didn't want to lose feeling again. He didn't want to lose control.

It still haunted him and sometimes he'd wake up in sleep paralysis and it'd scare him right into a panic attack but it was okay. It was better. Stiles knew it never would get any better than this. And he had to be okay with that too. With all of it. With himself.

_Blink._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think please, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
